


A Puppetmaster is but a Master's Puppet

by UmbrellaGoblin



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Bondage, Consensual, Consensual Non-Consent, Dom Oswald Cobblepot, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Play, Fear, Gags, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Knifeplay, M/M, Oral Fixation, Powerbottom, Puppets, Rope Bondage, Rough Sex, Shibari, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Small Penis, Submissive Character, aggressive blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:27:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27994512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UmbrellaGoblin/pseuds/UmbrellaGoblin
Summary: The holidays are coming soon! So both Arnold Wesker - the Ventriloquist, and his eccentric boss - Mr. Scarface - are getting their gifts from the Penguin. Though, Oswald has a special and grandiose gift prepared for Arnie. What exactly is it? Only Cobblepot knows. Until, well… Wesker decides to come over, wearing the gifts already given, to receive exactly what he was yearning for.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot & Arnold Wesker
Kudos: 7





	A Puppetmaster is but a Master's Puppet

Everything’s so oddly-nice about today! The weather’s pleasantly-cool, the sun is shining from the warehouse’s dome, the pretty colors it gives to the numerous crates some here-and-theres are carrying away, and the anticipation of pay coming in. Oh, paydays are always going well! Regardless of previous circumstances. Most importantly, however - his Boss is pleased, and his Boss will take his money, but what’s the point of working for someone as bright and protective and _handsome_ as Mr. Scarface without expecting him to _own_ his employees?

Arnold Wesker was huddled into a corner. “Playing with dolls again,” some passer-by said disappointedly. He didn’t recognize his face, but that fine fellow looked a lot like Rhino. Maybe Rhino was the one that started this whole sideburns fashion thing again, after all. Or maybe it was the new guy, ah… Hench Master, right. Arnie remembered names well. He remembered a very copious amount of things very very well. Some were useless, some were not. He’s such a chatterbox, though. He should shut up and not say a thing! His Boss is sleeping! Well, for now at least. 

Once he hides away from the blissful rays of yellow sunlight, slipping back into the shadows - a distinct sound of joints popping and wood cracking could be heard. Oh no, oh crud - Mr. Scarface can’t wake up without making tons of noise! So, out of respect for his Boss, Arnold put his palm up in between of the lacquered doll’s wide-open jaws, as the unknown vocal cords of the soul wedged into it were about to burst. 

Scarface bit in. Painfully. Wesker held back his whimpers with another free hand, but the loud groaning (and the discovery of Scarface’s secret) were, once again, prevented by the loyal, useful little man.

“Agh… Fer how long ‘ave I been-”

The wooden mobster stopped in his tracks. His Muppet shushed him, in a most respectful way - by silently bringing a finger to his own luscious lips of a distinct, fleshy color. Then, with a slow, concerned nod being given by the Master, the real Puppet moved over from one of the smaller crates to a makeshift table, where a kettle rested, alongside a silver platter and a tea set possibly snatched from the Hatter while he wasn’t looking. Oh, and a Hennessy bottle. No mission goes without Scarface or cheap cognac.

“Good afternoon, Sir,” Arnie said with care and softness in his voice, in spite of his bleeding arm. “I made you tea, j-just how you like it.” The sparkling dots of eyes behind his thick, round glasses trailed down to the teacup, offered to the slightly smaller hands of the large possessed doll. Naturally, Scarface took it rather roughly, but not roughly enough to spill the precious fluid. And _boy_ was his sip large and greedy - he left so very little in this sizable cup! Ah, his long nap must have treated him well. 

“Ahh… Tea an’ Hen. Now dat’s the stuff,” the doll garbled out while still swallowing boozed-up leaf juice. Scarface’s own, glassy eyes trailed upward, as he sat up on one of the packages and let himself fall onto a spacious, comfy bag of rice down below. Wesker looked both flustered and scared, still. Good. That’s how he should be. “Ay, Muppet… You’se is bleedin’. Gotcha good, right? Go get a Band-Aid, or sumshit,” the Master toned himself down in the meantime, growing a tad more self-aware with how loud he is. Especially since he finally saw the amount of unknown people moving stuff around, some in tuxedos and with definitive purple bowties.

“Oh. Oh okay. So we’re still at dis stank-ass place-”

“Mr. Scarface, please, they’re going to hear us!”

“Oy SHUDDAP! The only one screamin’ is you’se rite now!”

“Yes Sir I’m sorry Sir it won’t happen again Sir-”

“ _You’se_ be quiet now, Muppet. Y’did good.”

“You, you, you, all of you - **scatter,** ” A very nasal, whiny voice joined the pair’s while Arnie was disciplined. Both he and Scarface flinched when the whine rang across the warehouse. Oh yes - the bird is here, and he’s already kicking his henchmen’s asses. “Arnie, Scarface. Come the hell out, I brought presents!” Oswald squawked out again, the clear, longer step of his then supplemented by an umbrella’s dull thud against the concrete floor. And, indeed - both Arnold _and_ his Boss came out of the shadows, the doll still grasping at the ridiculously-large bottle of cognac and dragging it behind himself. Cobblepot knew about both Mr. Scarface’s nature and Wesker’s situation, so he handed them each a separate envelope.

“Happy Chanukah,” he said, “Scarface gets three quarters, but Arnie also gets a larger allowance since we’re makin’ some mad profits this December. Use it wisely, you two.”

“Oh, o-oh thank you Sir, this envelope is so thick and magn-”

“Ay! You’se is givin’ me cuts, Birdboy, not a fuckin’ allowance!” The Bossman tried to sound as appalled and offended as possible, scowling at Cobblepot’s smirk all the while.

“Either way - are you taking it, Mr. Scarface?”

“Fuck **yeah** I’m takin’ it, Gobble-Gobble! My man, dis is THICC for real!” The other mobster’s quick mood swing made his pair of peepers switch to dollar signs. That’s a fine new addition of the Puppetmaster, who in reality is, himself, the Puppet. Oswald for sure approved of that - the soul that was wedged into that old, dainty doll got all the more fantastical. And indeed, the fowlman looks rather content with himself and his gift to his partner… And _his_ Wesker. 

“And for that significant… Cut, may I borrow Arnold for something we must discuss in privy?” Cobblepot’s bliss-laden face nearly made Scarface barf, but… He knew what’s up. Arnie, in the meantime, remained a little clueless, but the blush on his face and the sudden veil over his glasses showed he also knew what’s about to happen. 

“Sure, sure, ya dun’ave ta’ use euphemisms all th’ time an’ shit… Man, I almost feel like a pimp givin’ ya out like dat, Muppet. Stay safe, will ya?”

“Sure thing, Sir!”

“Good boy. An’ Cobblepot - y’better give ‘im back ta’ me after a few, ‘cause I got a meetup wit’ the **Boys** at ten.” Scarface even finger-flicked to make sure there’s an agreement between the two of them. Oz finger-gunned back, with a hearty smile and his sharp chompers glinting more than usual. All of this is hella sus, but nothing says “let me do my thing” better than a fat stack of cash in a tongue-sealed envelope. Content enough, the doll threw one last glance at his henchman, before leaving him to the depraved and _hungry_ fowl.

And now Arnie felt awkward. Standing with his legs closely put together, and with his fingers resting on his round, pillowy stomach, his cheeks turned a little more pink once Oswald wrapped his surprisingly-strong arm around his shoulders. Once he heard Scarface give into slumber again, Penguin led Ventriloquist away from the sight and into another hangar, as a whole. What’s with the warehouse district and all the lots filled with various stuff? Wesker looks curious, but doesn’t ask a thing. He’s not supposed to. He’s a Muppet. Best keep it that way. For his own safety and Mister Cobblepot’s pleasure. 

“I have a different gift for _you,_ Arnold,” Ozzy’s tone shifted to a lower pitch, which made his already enamored doll’s ears twitch in response. 

Wesker turned his head, his eyes finally appearing back from the steam over glasses: “Really, Mr. Cobblepot, Sir? Wuh-What’s the occasion?”

“Holidays! They’re approaching, and they’re approaching fast. You deserve much more for your diligent labor, from my perspective. So you will be getting all of that, and beyond - from me, at least!”

“I… I’m afraid I don’t follow-”

“Oh, you don’t have to follow anything except my _commands,_ ” Oswald’s hand suddenly gave Arnold’s shoulder one harsh squeeze. That brought the two shorties closer, and made Wesker bend down a little too low while he’s in the big bird’s grasp.

“R-Right, um… Of course, Mr. Cobblepot.”

The present was put into a large crate, matching those standing in the previous hangar. Except for the fact it stood outside of said hangar, in the back rows of the old Iceberg Casino building down south. Oh, the Ventriloquist does remember it, now! Good times, good times indeed. “Good. Now that you’re here…” Oz made a long, dramatic pause before unveiling the package’s contents: “...Put _this_ on. And come through the backdoor. I will be watching you closely. Meet me in the office, but for now - you have your privacy, _Serf~_ ” That smooch was loud, and made the poor thing stammer in his words. By the time Wesker got back to a more or less stable state, Oswald already slipped through that same back door. Well… He has to obey. He has to put _this_ on… However ridiculous that may look.

Firstly, of course, Arnie ditched his clothes. Right here? Right now? Oh, he did not know what he was sold by Mr. Scarface off for. The only factual information he had at the moment is that he is getting naked, his nips and feet are getting _strenuously_ cold, and he may be spotted by a random stranger at any given point. That would be most awkward. Both Mr. Cobblepot and Mr. Scarface would be most displeased. He must act, post-haste! 

While ditching his old and dainty suit that smells of old paper and ink, his new clothes smell so… Good. And a little effeminate, in a way. Must be the perfume. Regardless - the underpants look both antiquarian and a size or two smaller than Wesker usually wore. Though, the material is surprisingly-comfortable. He… He may already like this idea of Oswald’s! Then, naturally, the golfsocks wrapped tight around his legs, up to the calves. Big, baby-blue bows rested on their rims. Rather soft, and so very regal. Much like the contrarian, lacquered black booties he slipped on right after. They’re his exact size! Mr. Cobblepot really _did_ prepare well. Always. No-no, wait - he must not fawn over Mr. Cobblepot just yet - blimey, there’s still a bunch to put on! 

Pantaloons slid over his tender, shaven skin quite naturally, and teased it with both their spaciousness and softness. Stripes of blue matching the bows, and a darker, navy shade matched the old Iceberg’s color scheme. Was Mr. Cobblepot reminiscent of his memories there? Or is it a mere coincidence? He’s asking too many questions again, ugh! Point is - they’re _very_ comfortable. Yet also teasing. In more ways than one. The shirt is also a bit too tight for him, but its ornate cuffs and starched collar make him look so precious. Mr. Scarface would probably barf rainbows seeing such expensive garbs wasted on a Muppet as he, but… He’s not there. Maybe. Look, Mr. Cobblepot even pre-tied a pure white cravat for him! How quaint. Wesker got the theme now; he’s a royal servant! And most definitely a royal one at that, since the navy tailcoat and the cyan waistcoat are, once again, quite fitting to the theme of Oswald’s olden days. 

No look of a _proper_ servant is complete without pristine-white gloves and a brooch. Arnie… Didn’t know where to pin it, but his neckerchief is the most probable of them all, so that’s where the fancy penguin ended up. This looked a little… Weird on the outside, but at least the layered garbs are warmer than his actual clothes. Trying his best to tiptoe in without making much noise, the booties made each step a couple times louder with its sturdy heel and creaking outer layer. 

“U-Uhm… Mr. Cobblepot?” Wesker asked unsure of himself, while walking through the back entrance, “Mr. Cobblepot? I, I think I’m ready. I hope you’re there, b-because I don’t feel like it’s a very good idea being here... Al-Alright! I’m going in!” Mustering up the courage to actually slip into the seemingly abandoned building, Wesker did remember these corridors quite well. Mr. Scarface usually did the talking, but now that he’s, uhm… Alone, in a way, he also maintains his silence. Only the echoing creaks of his shoes indicate he’s there. Arnie’s scared. Bent down. A little less cautious once he gets farther ahead. Unsure of where Mr. Cobblepot’s office has been (since he and his Boss were usually blindfolded upon entrance), he’s left hopelessly wandering the empty hallways and stepping over broken bottles. 

Until a chilling razor is pressed up against his throat by a familiar palm.

The Ventriloquist produced one _loud_ squeak. Thankfully, the other palm was now firmly clasped over his mouth, leaving it muffled and faulty. 

“Shh… You’ll be fine, little morsel. But only if you keep your silence~” That voice… Did Mr. Cobblepot summon him to kill him?! Oh no. Oh no no no, this is bad! Mr. Scarface will be _most_ displeased! He has to run, post-haste! And yet, shutting down his fight-or-flight response, the Muppet gave out a set of worried nods. In spite of the razor being close, the hand tried its best to keep it at a distance, just so the lump of hearty, frightened _dough_ wouldn’t accidentally cut himself on it.

“Good boy,” the known stranger said, “Let’s move elsewhere.”

And so they did. Arnie’s captor took slow, mediated steps. He calmed down, involuntarily so, since it almost feels like his heart’s going to drop. A knife so close to tender flesh is _really_ scary! And, as much as he is ashamed to say it, exciting. Suddenly - _“Ghn-nk!”_ \- the two short, thick fingers with sharp nails were jammed into his mouth. Wesker had no room to bite, even - not like he would. Said fingers played around with his tongue, and teased both the cheeks’ innards and the back of the swirling mouth muscle. Judging by the quiet gags and chokes the servant produced as they stumbled into a different room, Cobblepot made his conclusion aloud: “Oh my, Arnold - looks like we have a _lot_ of work to do.”

Whatever this meant. All Wesker hoped to achieve is not getting any fresh cuts… At least on his own volition. If Mr. Cobblepot wants to make him hurt - he will let him, undoubtedly so. While Arnie is spaced out and worked on, the master and servant slither into an old, yet pristine chamber - Room 304. It was one of the many rooms of the Iceberg’s hotel branch, but this particular place was special in Oswald’s heart - that’s where he first recruited Arnie. Even before Blackgate. Before everything went _ham_ in Gotham. It didn’t look tarnished at all, that room. The same stained, neutral wallpaper, and standard-issue furniture to match it. Nothing was “standard-issue” about the new Iceberg, but those memories were… Special. And of course it looked as if someone just moved into it: Some boxes thrown around, clothes of dubious nature here and there, bed already unmade, and so on. 

Oswald sat down on the bed. He dragged Arnold’s plentiful backside right onto his matching plentiful lap. And, finally - he also pulled the fingers out of the Muppet’s mouth. _His_ Muppet now. Just to prove his point, the drool-laced fingers slowly dragged across the cheek, until the entire palm cupped them and forced the doll-man to pucker his lips. The knife, in the meantime, pushed itself too close for comfort. The goosebumps-inducing cool of stainless steel hit the lower side of Wesker’s chin, then progressed downwards, down the neck, the fancy bowtie, across the chest… And then it went back up, slowly and teasingly. As if Oswald is testing his limits once again. It’s like a game of hot and cold, though the heat came from the back, where Boss reclined, and the cool came from the front, making the poor thing shiver more overtly by the minute. 

“So soft,” Oz said, “So malleable. Doughy. **Obedient.** You’re like a sweet, creamy _bun_ , Arnold. Has anyone ever told you that?” The knife’s so close to the neck, now. So cold! And yet so warm, since Ozzy’s hot breath hits that same spot. “You make me want to…” The hand cupping cheeks moved downward in the blade’s stead, and suddenly - pinched at Arnie’s chest, right beneath the jacket: “ **...Cut you up** , and _slowly devour_ you~”

“ _H-hnh-please!-_ ” The doll let out a loud, shaky whine. The pain from the pinch was soothed with arousal, as his nip’s now rolled in between Cobblepot’s thick fingers. But oh, his wails are interrupted! By his own gasp. Another wet feeling hits his other cheek - it’s Oswald’s tongue, tracing its way from the neck to the ear, and from the ear onto there. This made the Ventr- the Servant squirm, right up against Cobblepot’s (un)fortunately-placed and _throbbing_ groin. 

Wesker moved his hand up to try and grasp at Oswald’s wrist, but did so with more care than protest. His glove creaked, as the other palm took a grasp of the jacket, the knife still resting right up against his round face. The Iceberg’s always cold, but this room? It feels rather warm, now. It’s probably his shaky breathing, Arnie thought. Trying his best to hold composure, Oz relieved the long silence with his serpentine tone again: “Hmh! Scarecrow once told me fear has a _sour_ kind of taste to it, but salt? It might indicate your arousal. Me? I can taste both in ya, y’sweet little thing!” 

Oh _Jeez,_ the relief that came with the sound of metal clanking! The knife’s out of the game, so Cobblepot uses both hands to headlock Wesker and press a cloth up against his red, bulbous nose. “Here,” Oz said, “have some of this.” And Arnie did! After all, it didn’t smell as noxiously as chloroform, or as sweet as poppers. He’s forced to try both beforehand - and he didn’t like it one bit. But this? This felt like a more or less _herbal_ sedative, and in spite of its faint smell - it was powerful enough to make his head spin and muscles relax. 

That same herbal concoction, probably made by Pamela, also greatly increased his sensitivity. The Servant’s breathing patterns deepened, and his squirming only intensified. Although Arnie tried his best to keep himself silent, Oswald could hear and see and feel him getting quite pent-up. 

“Feels good to be back, doesn’t it?” Oz asked.

“Y… Yes, Mr. Cobblepot. Yes it does,” Wesker replied rather wetly.

“In that case - I brought you here to have _fun_ with you just like in the olden days. Do I have your consent for that?”

Arnold… Needed to think, but once he turned his face over - it was covered in a deep-red blush, and his lips curled up into a faint, dull smile: “You do, Mr. Cobblepot. Of course you do! B-But… But Mr. Scarface-” 

“He won’t know,” Oswald said reassuringly. “I trust you remember your safeword, as well?”

“Y-Yes! I mean, o-of course, Mr. Cobblepot. I-It’s Marmalade, isn’t it?”

“Marmalade… Yes.”

With the go-ahead given, the big bird’s ready to go _wild_ with the doll. _His_ doll. _His_ Servant - fitting for a King like he. Though, Oswald does restrain himself, by gathering up restraints for Arnold. His hand fishes around the suitcase, hastily thrown off in the corner, right by the bed. The other hand is all-too busy with teasing Wesker. 

“Chin up. Back straight. Hands by the sides. Legs spread. Keep still,” Oz kept giving out orders in a dry, commanding tone, but Arnold was more-than happy to oblige. With each command spoken out, he fulfilled it a second after. This gave Cobblepot enough space to land a good grasp and a couple soft pats on the Servant’s precious belly. Nice and soft. Always has a good use - as a pillow, that is. “Mouth open,” the last order’s pronounced, and the doll does so. 

Seconds later, he can feel a lump of cloth being pushed into it, and it is large enough to make his cheeks’ innards ache. If only a little bit, though. But of course, he took it in. He took it in fully. Although straining, the Muppet tried its best. Oftentimes, Wesker’s little panic room was in his own head - and the best place for him, in his imagination, was _beneath._ Ozzy is his good friend! He really, really is. He’s the one who really understands. Whom he trusts his deepest secrets! But Ozzy is something bigger than that, as well. He is someone who can rival Mr. Scarface in his guidance and leadership. Arnold is the one being lead, and, as the fowlman himself says, while adjusting the herb-laced cloth over his nose and mouth:

“That’s it. The Servant does the doing, and the Ruler does the talking~”

Oh boy. The puppetmaster’s such a mess, already. They have barely begun! Oswald is not stopping, not under any circumstances except the safeword. That cloth’s wrung up tight, you know! Comfortably-tight. And indeed, he cannot talk anymore - only writhe and mumble praises out through the freshly-washed cloth wedged past his lips. Leaning back, right into Oz’s grip, Arnold finally let himself go and arched his back, a prominent bump in his pantaloons showing itself to the greedy, hungry bird. 

“I’ll show you something nicer than this, even,” Oswald mumbled, wet breath hitting the doll’s ear once more, “Nygma’s always obsessed with his puzzles and whatnot… I’ll _make_ you into one.” With that said, Cobblepot let a strand of rope fall across Arnie’s lap. It didn’t feel too harsh, actually! More or less soft… And kind of oily. But the clothes! What of them? They will be tarnished! And Wesker wants to please his Boss. Oily clothes will most probably be displeasing… Will they be? Not really, considering the big bird’s already busying himself up with bending it (and Arnold’s body) just the way he wants. 

He starts with the arms, no - the hands. They’re always so pleasant to touch, Arnie’s palms. Especially when they’re gloved - since the softness is maintained, but the unpleasant moisture is sealed away. Oz rubbed his thumb up against the soft flesh of its inner part, then moved both hands to the back, just so the fingertips barely grazed the elbows’ tip. Arnold did not strain. Not too much, at least. A bit of struggling was part of the fun, after all. The first knot was _tight._ It kept his hands held together that way, but very loosely so, in spite of its potency. Not for long - as one knot became three, five, and then seven. Mr. Cobblepot sure did his homework with the ropework! Eventually, Arnie’s arms are left thoroughly-bound. So thoroughly all he can do is squeeze his arms together in retaliation whenever some tender spot is touched or teased. 

The first clump of hemp falls short so quickly. The Servant’s hands would be shaking, if they weren’t pressed up so close to more of his own flesh. Oz moves up to the chest, and the main body. All the threads of his puzzle are interconnected - intricate work. Much like Nygma’s. Though, the main difference between him and the Riddler is that the latter does it for the aspect of ‘unwrapping the present’ - Oswald, on the other hand, does it to make his doll squirm _more._ First a dress-up show, then vague threats of consumption, and now bondage? Oswald’s using him as a ritual sacrifice for his own indulgences. Or, perhaps, as a tool for such. Either way, a mere strand of tan rope has become a harness, which both reinforces and exposes his chest to further teasing, bending the fat and muscle to Cobblepot’s design and desire. 

Thankfully, he left the stomach free. For the most part. If only the waistcoat didn’t press up against it nearly as much as the shirt itself did. Now that the ropes are involved, it only got tighter. And much more teasing, too! No, these are not the flowers lacing the cloth over his nose - it’s his own struggles and motions, leaving Oswald wanting more and more with every passing moment. Penguin got his piece, sniffing and digging into the shirt’s collar from the back. There’s this sweet scent of fresh clothes, but already laced with some sourness coming off the scared little puppet. For a moment, his busy hands stop in their tracks and simply grasp at Arnold’s thighs and straining groin, bringing his vocale back alive. But no - he has to continue. The legs are not done with! Yet. 

Well then - the big bird shall be merciful: Pulling Wesker’s heavy frame up from his lap, the pantaloons went right down. Naturally, Mr. Cobblepot didn’t want to tarnish his doll’s dress. They’re probably very expensive! Hell, Arnie stopped squirming and mumbling something sweetly-confused out, but once Oz stared back up - he went on. And on. Wiggling while not exactly maintaining balance. That’s only beneficial to the yearning fowl, as the underwear drops down just as swiftly, leaving Wesker’s best assets on display. 

Oh, the Ventriloquist leaned back and nearly fell down when the chamber’s cool air hit his groin! He may or may not have left a stain, already. Thankfully, Mr. Cobblepot is considerate enough to lap it up as soon as he gets onto his knees, in order to leave the thighs, calves, and ankles pushed closely together, as well. Poor Arnold cocked his head up in embarrassment. So swiftly, in fact, his glasses nearly fell off! Mr. Cobblepot fixed it, as well, rising from his lower position with a coy smirk wedged onto his pasty face: 

“You’re so tiny,” he said, “And so precious! No wonder you’re a bottom, darling - but guess what?” 

“Hrm-hmh?”

“Today’s your lucky day, yeah~”

A rough push followed suit. Wesker literally folded over and onto the bed, its entire frame creaking as the doll jumped up around two times before Oz settled his face on his lap. My, Mr. Cobblepot certainly knows how to use his mouth and tongue! As much as his doll does. They’re both so professional, and yet - so savage, at this very moment. Oswald’s aggressive lapping suddenly evolved into a swift, _deep_ blowjob. In a moment, Arnie’s eyes crossed-out and he felt himself squirming in actuality from this point on. Just how tender is this doughy muppet? Even Ozzy didn’t know, despite being his buddy for twenty-something years. The old bonds are strong, but the new ones? They’re _fresher._ Much more vibrant than anything they’ve had previously! And boy is the Servant excited. All-too excited, since-

“M-MMNGH!”

The first load came after about forty seconds of Oz milking him. Though, the latter didn’t expect such a sudden surprise to literally erupt and bloat his cheeks. Jesus, just how much was he _spurting?_ Of course, Cobblepot didn’t leave a single drop - messing up the sheets is the mark of a dilettante - but Wesker just, kept, going. His twitching or clenching never stopped! The arms of his are audibly straining up against the ropes - Oz certainly did the right thing by keeping them busy. 

In the meantime, both pitch and volume of the doll intensified. If only he imagined what it’s like beforehand, being truly _tormented_ by his own pleasure. Though, the fact he’s got so much going on is not wondrous at all. It’s been a while since he last came, after all. Mr. Scarface doesn’t let him, anyway. That’s distracting him from the job! But of course, Mr. Scarface technically doesn’t even _have_ neither cock nor balls, so he wouldn’t understand. Mr. Cobblepot, though? Oh, he understands. Though, he doesn’t look content enough with Arnold’s relief.

“You were supposed to last longer!” Oswald’s tone was similar to that of a kid disappointed with his Christmas presents, “Ah, fine… If you wish to be such a one-pump chump, I’ll have to punish you just a little bit _better._ ” with that said, the haughty flightless birdshit flipped Arnie over in an instant, not even letting him let his last “MMF!” out before he does so. There’s no need or opportunity to apologize, and yet Wesker still tries his best to gargle it through the cloth. Regardless of that, his squirming messed up the ropework, too! Oh, Mr. Cobblepot will be most displeased! But oh well, it doesn’t matter to him as much as the tailcoats of the Servant’s jacket preventing access to the real dough of his. 

As Oz yanked them aside, he was presented with a gorgeous view: Hairless, polished buttocks, seemingly never touched by anyone previously. Most definitely a much more useful asset the doll of his has than the puny thing at the front. Though, he hasn’t forgotten about it, as well; with the tailcoats swinged away and the jacket nearly torn, Arnold arched his back mostly out of a tiresome post-orgasmic state. Moaning through the cloth, those noises didn’t stop Oswald from spitting at his doll’s asscrack and letting viscous spit run down the middle in a nasty little spitfall. At least he’s not going in raw - otherwise the poor thing would _squeal._ Now? Now Arnie emitted a proper gasp; Mr. Cobblepot is in. And he’s speeding up by the minute!

Groaning. Whimpering. Squawking. Swearing. Smacking. Spanking. All those things were done by Ozzy and Arnie to Ozzy and Arnie. The pants were such a bore and a liability, but the big bird didn’t have any time left for his dynamite stick not to blow the hell up. Penguin’s thick, powerful hips ensured the Ventriloquist got absolutely _railed_. If not for the overt and loud noises of his own, Arnold’s whimpers and constant rough smacking would be louder in any other circumstances. 

“Gonna-”

**_Smack._ **

“Make you-”

**_Smack._ **

“Mine.”

**_Smack-Smack._ **

“You’re **mine,** Arnold! Ya hear?! Mine!!!”

“Mhmf! Mhmrf-f~” Oh joy. Arnie’s crying, but for the first time in a long one, it’s… Happy tears. He’s already admitted to his closest ones that he loves getting hurt, and degraded, but for Oswald to be so generous with his gift? And still maintain a form of respect by saying, “Hrrf- I’m fuckin’ close, I’m close I tell ya!” all while giving him what _he_ wanted all this time? Arnold Wesker, the Ventriloquist, the Servant, is greatly honored. And with that honor come the tears. Of pain - of blissful, liberating pain in his back and ass that comes with the spanks and the pudgy hornfowl’s constant rutting. What Mr. Scarface cannot give, Oswald does. To the fullest extent. And because of that, Wesker can’t hold himself back any longer; he’s cumming again. And again. And again. For several minutes, while Oz can’t bring himself to end it - not until the Muppet’s derriere has gone neon-red like Rudolph’s nose. 

“Auh- **F-Fuck!** Ar-Arnold, you a-are a seventies kid, h-how fuckin’ fertile d’ya hafta be?!” Oz squawked in amazement. Wide eyed, gasping as much as the gloriously-ruined bottom does, he brought his hips down upon the poor soul one last time before blowing his very soul into the doll’s bowels. _His_ doll now. _His_ doll forever. Both of them slumped down and… Breathed, against one another. The restraints are ruined - Oswald is no Edward - but they did their purpose; Arnold’s smiling, all while sobbing and whimpering up against the mattress. At last, he lost control. Of everything. And, for both him and Oswald, this felt absolutely delightful.

***

Sun’s up. Barely. The abandoned hotel’s room is painted crimson with winter sunlight. It’s gotten cold again, but not for Oswald. He exudes so much heat, in fact, the content Servant’s snuggling up to him from the side. The Muppet’s been plugged up. Oh my - they totally forgot about Mr. Scarface! But that’s already sorted - nobody came to _that_ meeting, anyway. 

Arnold dug his face into Ozzy’s neck, peppering it with tender kisses his lips were practically made for. The old fowl had a hand draped over his head, petting it and ruffling his hair, in the meantime. Wesker saved himself up surprisingly well - little-to-no scars on that rotund body of his, and a relatively-full mop of rich, curly, fair hair. So smooth and soft he can barely resist digging his own schnoz into it and simply enjoying how the reclaimed serf smells. There were some bruises left over from the ropework, but they’ll be gone like hickies in a day or two.

No clothes but a blanket are draped over the pair. Though their suits have been prepared for the morning - Mr. Cobblepot is always, _always_ considerate. Arnie doesn’t even have his glasses on - the turquoise peepers of his own staring into Oswald’s ice-blues. Nothing but adoration for one another seen in those. Adoration and… Warmth. That soothing, humane warmth Wesker occasionally misses while Mr. Scarface is back in business.

“It’s good to have you back, old friend…”

“I have always remained loyal, Mr. Cobblepot. _Oswald._ ”

“I know, Arnold. And, I don’t consider your recent employment a betrayal, either.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Though, we should organize such… _Tete-a-tetes_ much more often, don’t you think?”

“A-Ah, of course, Sir! I’ll be more than glad to-”

“Shhh. Let’s make Saturdays our days, Arnie. Just like we did in the old times - resting on a Saturday. Spending time together. You losing power, me gaining it. Me - a King, you - a Servant. _Just_ how you like it. Would you-”

“Of course. Undoubtedly so.”

“Good boy. Now, quiet - _he_ should come over any minute.”

Mr. Scarface will be most displeased. However, does it bother Mr. Wesker? Or Mr. Cobblepot? Not quite. Not at the moment, anyway. They’re prepared to dash out, but… Why would they? So there they lay. Honoring the Saturday. A two decade-old relationship restored. And, as always intended - the Puppetmaster, once again, becomes the Master’s Puppet.


End file.
